


I Come With Knives

by PrioriMori



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gender-Neutral Pronouns For Reader, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22374574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrioriMori/pseuds/PrioriMori
Summary: Play deadly games, win deadly prizes.After facing the Entity's latest killer in a trial, you find yourself in possession of something that doesn't belong to you. Despite your better judgement, you decide to return it to its rightful owner. One of two things could happen. One, he'll be grateful, or two, he'll slaughter you.You hope there's a third option.
Relationships: Frank Morrison/Reader, Frank Morrison/You
Comments: 36
Kudos: 314





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a reader insert, so if you have any feedback or critique that would be great! I'm trying to keep the reader as vague as possible, but I tagged it based upon the direction it may end up (that being AFAB reader). Yes, this story is based on the IAMX song of the same name. Does that count as song fic? Anyhow, there's a fun little bonus to be featured in this story further down the line! I'll get to the details of it later.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Time was hard to measure in the Entity’s realm. The sky was nothing more than all encompassing night filled with thick smog, although sometimes the atmosphere changed color depending on which realms you entered. You were starting to miss the warmth of the sun and crystal blue days, your memory serving as a poor substitute for the real thing. The only warmth you felt came from the campfire you found yourself sitting by, yet even then it was lukewarm at best. Temperature here was practically nonexistent, along with the need to sleep or eat. Your internal clock was at a standstill, as were the physical clocks on both your phone and everyone else's.

Ah, yes, that was at least one blessing to being in this bizarre place. You weren’t alone, surrounded by more than several other people who had in some way or another become trapped by the Entity. All of you ranged in age and race, with seemingly no common denominator as to why or how the Entity selected you to play its ‘game’. Ok, maybe game was too nice of a way to put it, but that’s what it boiled to at the end of it all. In the words of Richard Connell, this was a “more dangerous game”. Now that you thought of it, this game was probably just straight up ripped out of his story.

As you continued your internal contemplation on who came first, the Entity or Richard Connell, a hand clapped down your shoulder. You startled briefly until you noticed it was Quentin, relaxing as he smiled down at you.

“Anybody home?” he joked.

“Ugh, I swear you’re going to give me a heart attack,” you replied, hand crossing over your chest to emphasize your point.

“You’re sooner to get your heart ripped out.”

“Touché.”

Quentin grabbed hold of your hand and helped hoist you up from your spot on the ground. The sky around the small campsite of yours was beginning to pulsate, signaling the end of another trial and the return of more friends. From the forest a black fog began to roll out, almost oozing over the ground until it met the edge of the camp. As quickly as it appeared the fog soon retreated, leaving behind the familiar faces of Kate, Feng, Ace, and Dwight. Although their overall appearance was unscathed, their expressions told a very different story.

“So, how’d it go?” you asked Kate as she plopped down on the log closest to you.

“Awful, I don’t think anyone of us got a generator done,” she sighed.

“Yikes, that bad?”

“Worst,” Ace piped up as he gave his neck a crack, “Seems the Entity had a little surprise for us.”

Most of the others and yourself turned to Ace, curiosity now piqued.

“Oh, really? Can’t be many more surprises the thing can throw at us,” Bill huffed, busy fiddling with his cigarettes.

“Oooh, but it can!”

“What Ace means is that the Entity brought us a new ‘playmate’,” Dwight said, wiping his glasses with his tie.

Everyone made noises of annoyance, and you let out a huge sigh as well. Playmate was also too nice of a way to say ‘murderer’. That’s what this game was, a life or death version of hide and seek with extra steps. On the bright side, you couldn’t actually die in the Entity’s realm. Not permanently. Plus, as the Entity collected killers it would throw a new teammate your way eventually.

Your gut twisted at the thought, because while you were glad to have made new friends here, the arrival of someone new always served to remind you that all of this was just a giant prison. Once you entered the Entity’s playground, there was no leaving. Hell, most of you tried to at first, but after wandering those haunting woods for hours only to arrive back at the campfire the attempts fizzled out. Personally you clung onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, the Entity would let you leave eventually. A few of the others probably did as well, although none of you shared your sentiments out loud.

“Sooo, what are they like?” Meg broke the silence, a mock cheeriness in her voice.

“Well, they wear a mask and they like to stab,” Feng replied.

“Also really, _really_ fast. I don’t know what y’all would call it, but boy can he run!” Kate added, making a zooming motion with her arm.

You laughed a bit at that, the image of someone ninja running crossing your mind.

“Yeah, full blown feral,” Dwight said, keeping the gesture game going by making slashing claws.

The tension in the air lifted as most of you began to make your own silly faces and jokes, almost forgetting about the new killer altogether. As the moments rolled by and a few of your friends began to play charades, you took a seat on the log next to Kate. She was preoccupying herself by drawing in the dirt with her finger, doodling little flowers and swirls all about your feet. You watched her for a while, admiring the little details she added to make roses or tulips. Eventually she stopped to look up and give you a soft smile, which you returned. Kate had an infectious personality, the kind where you couldn’t help but be in a better mood around her. You blamed that southern charm of her’s.

“Sorry you had to get the first trial with the new killer,” you said sympathetically.

“Nah, it's fine! Just irked that I didn’t do better.”

“Yeah, but you couldn’t have known you were up against someone new.”

“That’s true. At least we’ll get used to them eventually.”

You nodded in agreement as Kate returned to her doodling, this time joining in as you both made little daisies. While you began to scribble your initials in the dirt, Kate brushed away the flowers she had made to give herself a new canvas. Instead of more floral art she decided to make a portrait of sorts. It's nothing special, just two eyes and a smile, however Kate glares at it as though its somehow personally offended her. You raise a brow, unsure of what to say or whether you should at all. Although you’re trying not to stare at it, Kate notices your confusion and begins to explain.

“That’s what the mask looked like,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger at the dirt, “A big, stupid grin plastered over his face.”

You want to laugh because it's so absurd. Of all the monsters and freaks you’ve had to fight or run from this entire time, it's a dumb ass smiley face that’s now got you concerned. In all honesty, you’d rather not face them anytime soon. New foes meant new challenges, new realms, and new ways to die. Sure, by now you’ve experienced almost every conceivable way to break the human body, but that didn’t mean you got used to the feeling. Getting gutted the hundredth time always felt like the first, no matter which way you cut it.

Ha, cut it.

A stupid grin of your own split your cheeks as you internally laughed at your brilliant word play, almost missing the creeping sensation of the Entity ripple through the air. You could never really describe it, but the Entity always had a way of letting everyone know when it would be their turn before the last trial ended. It gave each of you time to make your offerings and gather whatever items you wanted to bring along, in your case a firecracker you had been holding onto for a while. Quentin was the first to stand and walk towards the familiar black fog that returned from the woods, followed by Meg and Nea. You were the last to stand and follow, the image of that smiley face still seared in your mind as your vision faded, becoming enveloped by the dark.

❈

The dark veil over your eyes soon lifted, signalling the start of a new trial. You no longer felt dread entering the games anymore, instead taking comfort in the familiar formula of how they played out. After so many trials it was easy to memorize the playgrounds’ layouts, in turn making finding generators and the exits much simpler. However, it seems you would not have the privilege of familiarity this time. Instead, you found yourself surrounded by snow in a forest you held no memory of. There was a gust of cold wind blowing, but much like the campfire it was muted and barely phased your summertime wear.

Although you would have liked to acquaint yourself with this new place, you had to focus on finding a generator and fast. Neither Quentin, Meg, or Nea were nearby as far as you could hear over the wind, so you would have to work by yourself for now. There were many crumbling walls and trees to provide cover as you crept around, snow crunching under your sandals as you went. But even more impressive was the giant, dilapidated building smacked in the center. Large buildings in these worlds were not uncommon, yet you always felt a mixture of fear and awe whenever you were in their shadow. Most importantly, there was always a generator or two to be found in them.

You stayed crouched behind a wall as you looked this way and that, making sure your path was clear before darting across the frozen ground into an open doorway. Once inside you quickly ducked behind an old service desk across from a wall of lockers, grateful that at least you would have a few hiding spots available should you need them. You kept pressed against the desk for a few moments, listening for footsteps or your team’s voices. There was nothing to be heard asides from the wind and unmistakable crackling of a fire somewhere close.

Keeping low you shuffled forward to the window ahead of you and climbed over, landing next to a staircase. Sure enough there in front of you was the fireplace in the center of a conversation pit, which under different circumstances would look very inviting and comfortable. Fortunately for you the generator you were searching for was right next to the stairs, and you quickly set upon working to get it operational. The engine gradually worked its way alive, the sound of its pumps echoing in the common area. Despite your success in having the generator close to completion, you could not shake the eerie sensation that came with the silence surrounding you.

Silence meant one of two things in a trial. One, the killer was being absolute shit this round, or two, they already knew where you were and were just waiting for the right moment to strike. More often than not it was the latter. You willed your trepidation away as you put the last wire in place, illuminating the room with the generator’s light. The others would see the aura for only a short time, including the killer, so you had to turn quick on your heel to leave.

As if on cue a scream carried across the map and Nea’s red silhouette crossed your vision. You cursed under your breath as the aura disappeared before reappearing seconds later on a hook. Whoever your opponent was this trial they seemed to be deliberately hunting your team down near the Entity’s sacrificial hooks to make their job easier. It was a smart move, you’d probably do the same if you were unlucky enough to be in their position.

But you weren’t, and there was no way in Hell you were going to fall for that little trick. The snow kicked up beneath you as you dashed the other direction, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the monster. Meg would certainly double back for Nea, it was up to you and Quentin to get the generators done. You kept running between the graffitied walls until you spotted another generator that was partially repaired. Were your friends still close by? There was no time to look as another yell rang out from Nea’s direction and you recognized it as Meg. She hadn’t been downed, thank God.

Hands shaking you sat down at the generator and got another set of pumps working, your heart racing now as the fear trickled in. The silence had once again settled over the air, which somehow made your nerves even worse. Your fingers slipped something into place at the wrong angle and caused the engine to blow up in a plume of smoke, forcing you to take off running again. The last thing you needed to be doing was alerting the killer to your location, but if they got distracted by the commotion Nea and Meg might have a good chance of slipping away.

Your feet carry you back to the resort, deciding to cut across to the other side through it. Slowing to a crouch you hugged the wall until you got to another doorway. This time you ended up next the lounge bar and basement stairs, concealed mostly in the shadows. You took the opportunity to sit down and catch your breath, trying to keep your mind on track of your task and not on the killer. If you knew who it was, maybe it would ease the panic rising in your gut, but in order for that to happen the monster would need to be close enough for you to see. And right now you really wanted to avoid crossing paths.

A chime and bright orange aura signaled another generator complete, but just as the elation came so did Nea’s shrieks as the Entity claimed her. You watched as the sky burst with the shock waves of the Entity’s energy before becoming still once more. Did Meg not manage to free Nea?

The answer to that came in quick succession as you saw Meg’s aura light up. Damn, the killer was starting to get serious. You and Quentin were the only ones left to be caught, so one of you had to make the rescue. Swallowing your anxiety you bolted from your spot and ran towards Meg’s general direction. It didn’t matter if the killer spotted you or not, so long as someone acted as bait the other had an opening to save Meg. You’ve offered yourself up as bait more times than you could count, and despite not being the fastest runner you could turn on a dime and dodge blows. That had to be enough right now.

While weaving between the walls you did everything you could to be noisy. Hitting plywood, exaggerating your breathing, anything to draw the enemy to your location. Your efforts caused you to tire quickly, and you had to stop to compose yourself. Your bent over with your hands on your knees, wheezing as the cold air stung your lungs. So far you haven't heard Quentin cry out, meaning he wasn’t discovered yet. But you hadn’t heard the killer either, so you have no idea if your plan is working.

“Ah fuck,” you sighed aloud, “Where are you?”

You stood up straight, looking around for any moving shadows in your peripheral. The world was still asides the snow fall and the trees above swaying with every gust of wind. This was proving to be pointless, and Meg was running out of time. Needing to retrace your steps you began to walk back through the maze you had gotten yourself into, coming out near a small shack beneath a broken ski lift. There seats creaked menacingly, as if they would fall down on your head at the tiniest disturbance. Your eyes looked up from the shack to the lift as you approached cautiously, unsure if this was the safest place to be.

Your blinked snow from your lashes as your gaze fell back to the shack’s doorway, heart jumping straight into your throat as you did. There was someone standing there who hadn’t been before, but all you could make out about them was a very familiar smile painted onto a white mask. Kate’s words crossed your mind as you stared, mouth agape.

The new killer.

It felt like an hour passed between the both of you as all you did was reenact a deer in headlights, even with every fiber in your being screaming to run. The masked man did not move either, save for tightening the grip on the bloody knife he held in his fist. Snow was beginning to cling to your clothes with every second that ticked by, causing a small shiver to crawl over your skin. The tremble of your body seemed to finally trigger the killer to jump from the doorway and in turn force you to finally run.

Blood was pumping loudly in your ears as you ran back for the walls, the footfalls behind you getting closer and closer. You took a tight turn to the right, screaming briefly as you felt your shirt get snagged on the end of the knife. The man was so close now you could hear his ragged breaths, but it spurred you to keep going. There was a pallet nearby, you had crossed it earlier. If you could get him close enough to stun him, you could put some distance between yourselves.

Another twisting turn and another slash of the knife, but still no pallet. Where was the damn thing?! You grabbed the edge of another wall to help direct your momentum as you ducked behind, the killer skidding past. You made the terrible decision to look behind you and see just how close he was, because it caused you to slow down just long enough for his blade to finally make skin contact and tear open your back.

You gave out a scream as searing pain shot through your veins, hot blood staining the snow bright red as it ran down your shirt and legs. All you could think about was getting away, Meg and Quentin far from your mind now. Running as fast as you were you almost missed the pallet as the world went by in a blur, but thankfully you willed your hands to reach forward and throw the blockade down in the nick of time. The pallet collided with the killer’s hand, knocking the knife out of his grip. It gave you a few seconds to stop and gasp for air, trying to keep yourself from falling over and losing your burst of adrenaline.

The mask glared at you from behind the pallet, the killer’s shoulders rising and falling as he too tried to reclaim his breath. Your brows knitted together as you looked him up and down, unsettled by the fact that he looked so _normal_. If he ditched the knife and mask he could pass as a survivor. Whether that was scarier than the monsters you would have to debate later, because right now the guy was vaulting over the pallet with his knife aimed at your face.

You shrieked, taking off in a dead sprint before he could stab you again. The chase did not let up at all, and you swear he had gotten faster. His growls were practically in your ear as you cried out for help, begging for Quentin or Meg wherever they were. A generator turned on somewhere, and you hoped that would be enough to distract your pursuer.

If the Entity answered prayers, or took pity on survivors, its mercy landed on you today. After running for what felt like a marathon to the point of collapse, the killer was no longer on your ass. You fell down behind a boulder, startling the crows as you laid on the frozen ground. Your lungs were burning as much as your back was, the adrenaline finally wearing off and the pain settling in. The others weren’t kidding when they said this bastard was fast, and there was no way you could outrun him again in this state. You pressed you palms to your eyes, trying to hold back tears of frustration.

Of course the Entity wanted to test out its new toys on you all before you had the opportunity to talk strategy. If you had to go up against this guy in the third round, your friends might have prepared you on what to expect. Then again, the first group had been wiped out so quickly they barely had anything to report. And if things keep up like this, you won’t have much to relay back either.

“Psst, hey!”

You lurched upright in fright as Quentin entered your vision, one of his hands pressing to your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Shshsh, it's just me. Are you alright?”

He moved his hand away and you exhaled, relief washing over you.

“Oh Jesus, Quentin! Are you going to scare me all day?”

“Sorry you space out a lot?”

You stifled a laugh as you looked at his shoulder, spying the fresh gash carving into his collar bone. Without needing to ask you went to work trying to mend the wound, working with what you both had on hand. Quentin tore off a sleeve of his jacket so you could compress the shoulder and slow down the blood flow, muttering apologies when he winced.

“Is Meg okay?” you asked after a beat.

“Last time I saw her she was,” Quentin said right as you both heard a scream.

“Shit,” you spat, “That’s her last hook.”

“Damn it, we’re not getting out through the doors.”

“There’s only two generators left, I’m sure we can—”

“No, our best bet is finding the hatch.”

You leaned back to look at Quentin.

“Only the last survivor can use the hatch.”

“I know.” he sighed.

The silence between you settled like the snow, but he was right and you both knew it. You inhaled deeply, nodding even though you didn’t fully agree with this strategy.

“Alright, let me run interference while you search for the hatch.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, plus I got these!” you exclaimed, pulling a small bundle from your pocket.

Quentin’s face lit up when he saw the cherry red firecrackers in your hand, hope renewed in his weary eyes.

“We got this!” he affirmed with a fist bump to your arm.

❈

Once more you were out in the open, running as fast as your legs could carry you as your labored breathing drowned out the crunch of snow behind you. It hadn’t taken long for the new killer to find you again, and this time you weren’t planning on escaping. You just needed to give Quentin enough time to find the hatch before you could let the masked man catch you and be done with this game. It should be any moment now, given that you’ve lapped this damn map at least twice.

“Go, go, go!” you chanted to yourself.

The air behind you whistled as the knife was brought down near your head, and you yelped in surprise. He was too close, you had to put some distance between you two now! Your hands fumbled as you reached into your pockets, pulling out the firecracker string and a lighter. Another quick dodge of the knife almost cost you the lighter, but despite your shaky grip you managed to get the bundle lit and tossed over your shoulder.

“Eat this!” you screamed at your attacker, the firecrackers erupting behind you in a flurry of bright lights and loud pops.

The masked man let out an enraged yell as he was temporarily blinded, spitting curses at you that were too far to hear. You grinned like a maniac as you stole a glimpse of him trying to catch up, throwing up a very rude hand gesture as a bonus. Although the distraction worked, the killer was now more pissed off than ever, bursting into a breakneck speed with knife poised over his head. Your shoes slid over the snow as you attempted to make a quick turn, just barely missing the slash to your arm. Dwight was right, this dude _was_ feral!

You could feel your legs start to give out now, and the sting of your back was so distracting. The will you had to keep going for Quentin’s sake was strong, but the fatigue of your body was stronger. Finally the time came for the knife to meet its mark in your shoulder as the killer crashed into you, shoving you into the ground. You screamed out in pain, scrambling to find purchase in the snow with your hands and feet, but the full weight of another person on you made this impossible. The man on top of you pulled out his knife with a twist, shredding muscle fibers and arteries as more screams were ripped from your throat. You tried to turn over onto your back to fight him off, but your flailing hands only grazed his form.

“Fuck you!” you hissed at the smiling mask.

The man only growled back, taking jabs at you with the blade while you protected your face with your arms. When he threw down another deliberate blow your forearm caught the brunt of it, the knife plunging through and spraying blood over your eyes. Somehow the knife became stuck, and as the killer yanked on the hilt it made the shooting pains all the more unbearable. Tears were streaming down your face as you begged him to stop pulling on the knife, but he ignored your pleas. Using his other hand to capture your wrist, he gave the knife one final jerk before finally freeing it from your flesh.

Your arms collapsed to your chest as you sobbed, just wishing for this twisted game to be over. Through your watery eyes you could see your murderer staring down at you, head tilting to the side as if he were a dog watching a ball being waved in his face. He brought the tip of the blade to the mouth of his mask, smearing your blood over it like lipstick. That settled it, humans were much scarier than monsters.

“Just...finish this…” you wheezed, not wanting to delay your demise any longer.

The mask emitted a deep hum as though he was contemplating something, but you knew better. His mind was made up the moment this trial began, this was just the predator playing with its prey. Of all the things you hated in these stupid death games, it was when the killers teased you. A lot of them loved to draw things out for their own disgusting satisfaction, just driving home the point that you survivors were their toys, too. At least this new guy didn’t take more than a minute to raise his weapon for the final blow, which you were begrudgingly thankful for. You closed your eyes as the knife came down and—

A sudden roar pierced your ears, shocking you and the killer as a blur tackled him off of you. You quickly crawled back to see Quentin fighting the masked man, their arms locked in a frenzy of punches and slashes.

“Quentin!” you cried, trying to reach him.

“Run, now!” he screeched back at you. “The hatch is a few paces north!”

You scrambled to find your feet, eyes darting all around in search of something, _anything_ , to help save Quentin. The attacker was struggling to regain the upper hand, yet he wouldn’t be for long. Quentin was still yelling for you to leave, but you weren’t thinking logically anymore. Instinct had taken over and demanded you fight back as well. When you spotted something small and rectangular sticking out of the snow, you didn’t think twice to grab it. However, by the time you armed yourself with your makeshift weapon Quentin was now pinned and the killer began stabbing into his sternum erratically, blood splattering everything in red.

As the life in Quentin’s eyes slowly slipped away, he locked gazes with you and mouthed ‘Go’. A sob escaped your lips as you watched Quentin’s head fall back limply, catching the killer’s attention anew. You saw that heinous smile and it was all the encouragement you needed. You practically flew across the map as you turned heel and bolted north, ears open for the hatch’s whistling. This was it, now or never. Quentin sacrificed himself for you, getting this escape would be your thanks to him.

The fire of determination kept you going despite everything in your core screaming to stop, and even if that knife-wielding asshole caught you again you were sure as Hell going to rough him up, too. You squeezed the object in your hand. It didn’t feel heavy, but maybe a good hit across the face would crack that stupid mask.

Either the Entity knew you wanted to damaged its new plaything, or just really liked you today, it bestowed more of its blessings upon you in the form of the open hatch just straight ahead. You yelled in excitement, willing your legs to go faster before jumping and launching yourself into the dark abyss. The whistle of the knife missing the top of your head was followed by an enraged yell, but it faded away along with the rest of the snowy nightmare.

The trial was over.

You won.

❈

You opened your eyes as the fog dropped you back at the campfire along with Nea, Meg, and Quentin. Nea and Meg both look angry and embarrassed, but Quentin was calmly looking over to you. You met his questioning gaze with a triumphant smile, and he let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Thank God, I was afraid he’d catch you before you got to the hatch.”

“He almost did,” you admitted. “You should’ve been the one win.”

“Meh, you can play sacrificial lamb next time.”

You punched his now healed shoulder as he gave you a coy grin, walking away to warm himself by the fire. Everyone welcomed you back, asking all sorts of questions about your trial. Nea was the first to spill the beans on how you were dropped in the new realm with the new killer, and how unfair she found it all to be. Meg shared her sentiments, adding in how freezing it was without a jacket. Quentin didn’t contribute much to the story save for complimenting your decision to bring in the firecrackers and finding the hatch buried under a mound of snow. You wandered over and plopped down between Jake and Dwight, stretching your aching legs out.

“Here’s the hero of the hour,” Jake greeted. “Got your cardio in and everything.”

“Ugh, I hate leg day.”

Jake snorted, giving your back a few pats. Dwight was going to add a quip of his own when he spotted your hands.

“What’s that you got?” he asked.

“Huh?” you looked down and saw you were still clutching the object you had grabbed in the trial. “Oh! I didn’t realize it came back with me.”

You turned it over in your hands and examined it further, noticing a familiar logo and wire headphones wrapped tightly around it. As you untangle the headphones you can see another logo appear along the bottom, and it dawns on you what you’re holding.

“It’s a Walkman,” you state, holding it out for everyone to see.

“What? Lucky!” Meg pouted.

“Oh wow, think the Entity gift that to you?” Claudette asked.

“I don’t know, maybe…”

You popped open the lid and saw there was a cassette already inside. At least the Entity remembered that detail. You clicked it closed and continued to look it over, pressing the buttons to memorize their location and what they did. When you got to the back of the Walkman there was something else to catch your eye. White label tape with bold, black lettering that spelt a name.

**FRANK MORRISON**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: In my first version of the beginning notes I used the incorrect terminology when referring to the reader and fixed the category tag as well. As a new writer of an insert story I want to strive for audience accessibility and inclusion as much as possible. 🌈


	2. The Paradox of Our Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to first say thank you to everyone whose left kudos for the story so far! I'm really happy so many of you are enjoying this and I can't wait to write more! ❤️
> 
> I do have plans to go back and fix up the grammatical errors in the prologue, but for now here is the next installment and official beginning.

“Whose Frank Morrison?” you asked aloud.

All eyes were on you now as you raised the Walkman up high and pointed to the label tape. Your question was only met with similar looks of confusion as your friends glanced at each other, no one seeming to have an answer. After the long stretch of quiet Dwight cleared his throat.

“You said you brought it back with you, was it in a chest?” he asked.

“No, actually. It was just lying on the ground.”

“Might be a prop made by the Entity, then.”

“Or, could be something a previous survivor had,” Adam interjected.

A shiver crept up your spine at the idea of that. The Entity had been collecting survivors long before any of you fell into its clutches, but none of them were around anymore. Their souls were stripped raw and once they could no longer provide sustenance to the evil deity, it discarded them into the Void. No pawn was safe from the Void, not even the killers. To think you were holding onto the last remnant of a person was nauseating.

“I say finders, keepers. Not like this Frank guy is going to come searching for it,” Jake added.

“That’s true,” you agreed. “Plus it’d be nice to listen to some classics if they’re on here.”

“Well, go on then! Turn that sucker on and find out!” Ace chimed in.

With the giddiness of a child opening their birthday presents you plug each earbud in and press the play button. The enthusiasm you felt died instantly as piercing chords punctured your eardrums and sent shooting pains straight through your skull. Startling with a silent yelp, you yanked the headphones out and covered your ears as ringing replaced the violent rumbling that was now floating in the air about you. Jake snorted with laughter and you shot him a disapproving look, yet there was a smirk threatening to form on your lips as well.

“It’s not funny,” you demurred.

“It’s a little funny.”

That earned him a light shove from you before you set about finding the volume control on the Walkman to turn it down. Although the noise pollution descended into a whisper, there was a moment of hesitation as you brought one of the ear pieces back up out of paranoia you would be assaulted by the cacophony once again. Thankfully, it was just soft enough for you to hear the familiar sound of guitar shreds and thumping drum beats. You sat there playing with the reverse and forward controls to skip through the tracks, hoping to find a song you knew.

“Eugh, it’s all metal,” you announced with disappointment after a few minutes.

“You got something against rock and roll?” Ace asked in fake shock.

“Yeah, rock and roll baby!” David hollered with a horn hand throw.

“Oh my God,” you snort laughed. “I don’t have anything against it, Ace. I just like variety in my playlists. Would you like to listen to sappy love songs for an hour straight?”

Ace leaned back in his seat with his hands behind his head, giving you a mischievous grin, “I plead the fifth.”

Laughter echoed through the camp at Ace’s joke, and soon enough you were all back to your usual games and discussions about the next trial. The Walkman’s novelty had worn off now and you were left to mess around with it as you pleased. You pulled out the cassette and examined it for any hints of artists or song titles, but only Frank’s name written in cursive with long, neat strokes appeared on the header. Resigned to your metal-head fate you flipped the tape over and rewound it to the very beginning as you slid to the floor, head resting against the log, and letting yourself get lost in a musical trance for the next few hours.

❈

After some time you decided that, even if the tracks on your new Walkman weren’t practically favorable, they were far better than the dreary background noise you had grown accustomed to. The ferocious rifts and headbanging pace was great to get yourself pumped for trials or drown out conversation you weren’t interested in joining. It wasn’t exactly study music, but when you needed to unwind after a long day of back to back trials the brooding lyrics soothed your inner melancholy.

Despite the newfound comfort you took in the music, there was just one strange problem. Try as you might, you could not store the Walkman in your Bloodweb. You found this to be both inconvenient and perplexing, as the Bloodweb was designed by the Entity itself for each survivor to serve as a personal pocket dimension to keep your items safe. Why the Entity would gift you something you couldn’t even stow you had no idea, but there was not much you could do other than ask your friends to hold onto it for you during your trial times. No one seemed bothered by the request, yet you still felt it was only a matter of time before they got fed up or you accidentally brought it to a realm where it could get lost or broken.

Then there was the mystery of the name on the back of the Walkman. You wanted to believe that it was just another one of the Entity’s replicas or an item lost by a survivor from long ago, just as Dwight and Adam speculated, but it was such a highly specific detail that you were starting to doubt that. Everything the Entity made in this realm was a piss poor knock off of the real thing, whether it be physically wrong or just the feeling of it. The Walkman gave you vibes that it had been pulled through here just as you and the clothes on your back had been. It was _genuine_.

You tried not to dwell on the enigma for too long as there were still death games to be played and you needed to direct your attention to strategizing in the long stretches between them. At least with the cassette tape everyone now had a general idea of how time passed, a rather clever exploit the Entity either overlooked or designed purposefully as a handicap. It confirmed what some of you had already speculated: if trials were not being run back to back the Entity gave you between six to eight hours of downtime within a standard twenty-four hour period.

Although you were by no means keeping schedules now, it did grant you and your friends greater liberty in planning how you would use your interludes. Currently you were sitting with Feng and Ace as the gambler was trying to teach you both how to play five-card draw, which you were losing at quite spectacularly. You mumbled curses to yourself as you folded your hand yet again, wishing that the Entity had given you an Uno deck instead. Hell, even going against the Trapper was easier to win than this!

“—a load of shit, I’m tellin’ you!” a bitter voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you looked up to see what was going on.

David was waving his arms around and pacing in circles, cursing about the trial he, Laurie, Tapp, and Quentin had returned from. Laurie and Claudette were asking him to calm down, but David was on the war path and knowing him there would be a trench around the campfire before he was finished. Tapp didn’t say anything, just shook his head and went to take the empty seat next to Adam. Meanwhile, Quentin stayed put where the Entity had left him, lips pulled into a thin line and hands shoved in his pockets. You got up from your card game and brushed past David to reach Quentin, pulling him in for a quick hug which he half-heartedly returned, his posture remaining stiff with unease.

“When I see that little prick again, I’m goin’ to give him the beatin’ he deserves!” David finished ranting, spitting at the ground.

“Are you done?” Laurie asked rhetorically. “Come on, it’s not the first time one of the killers decided to set up camp at the hooks.”

“Yeah, but the little todger didn’t ‘ave to act like a right cunt ‘bout it.”

You rolled your eyes at David’s colorful commentary, which did draw some amusement out of Quentin, but you weren’t about to insert yourself into the squabbling. Instead the two of you sat down in your usual spot behind one of the logs, staring off into the distant tree line. While the others kept themselves busy trying to calm David down, you looked to Quentin and thought it best to ask him for the details. He exhaled deeply, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the top of his shoe which you recognized as him collecting his thoughts.

“It was the new killer again, the one we saw in our last trial together,” Quentin began. “Except he didn’t pick us off one by one like before. At first things were going that way, but once he saw me it was like he just—”

“Got tunnel vision?”

Quentin nodded, “Once I was on the hook that was it. Any time David or Tapp tried to rescue me the guy was right there waiting.”

“Maybe he was pissed off about last time.”

“See, I was thinking that as well, but while I was dangling there he began to search my pockets.”

You blinked at him dumbfounded. Did you hear that right?

“The killer...frisked you?”

“Okay, when you say it like _that_ it sounds a million times worse.”

“You said it, not me!”

“No, I said he searched my pockets—”

Qunetin stopped mid-argument when you began to giggle and he realized you were teasing. He swatted your arm with his hand, yet he was starting to laugh, too.

“Anyway, whatever he was looking for I didn’t have it. All I really remember after that was seeing David get knifed in the gut and then the Entity took me.”

“Explains why David is throwing a hissy fit.”

“Yup.”

A comfortable silence formed between you both as the others talked in the background, much calmer now than a few minutes ago. You pulled the Walkman out from your jeans and popped it open to flip the cassette over, hoping you remembered how far ahead you had to fast-forward to get to your favorite track. As you were putting in the headphones, Quentin shifted closer and grabbed the tape player.

“Hey! Quentin!”

“Wait, I just–I just had a thought,” he held a finger up to you as he turned the Walkman over to look at the name printed on the back. “Remember when you said you got this from the ski resort?”

“Um, yeah? I pulled it out of the snow.”

“Do you know where exactly?”

“No,” you scoffed. “I’ve only been to the new realm once and that was like, I’m guessing a week ago.”

“Okay, but you do know _when_ you picked it up.”

“Yes, it was after you got that freak off me and—” you paused, a wave of understanding crashing down over you like a tsunami.

Quentin returned your wide eyed expression with a sullen nod as he placed the Walkman back in your open palm.

“Oh no, no, no, no, _no_!” you sputtered. “We can’t take a killer’s items, Quentin. It’s impossible.”

“We only thought it was impossible because no one’s done it before,” Quentin looked over his shoulder to make sure no one else was listening in. “It explains why the guy was searching me and why your Bloodweb won’t accept it.”

“You knew about that?”

“Well, duh, why else have you been playing hot potato with it?”

You groaned, internally berating yourself for being so transparent. It didn’t take much effort to summon or send things to the Bloodweb; all that was required was closing your eyes and searching your mind until the red tendrils of the Entity lurking there, like arteries of the eyes, appeared from the darkness. Everything you owned in this realm was visible in the Bloodweb as though you were simply opening a drawer, and if you wanted something particular all you had to do was concentrate on it. From the outside this transaction occurred as a trick of the light, but more often than not you’d blink and someone had different clothes or hair.

You hoped that no one could tell that the last few times you pretended to doze off while listening to your music you had secretly been trying to will the Walkman into your Bloodweb. No matter how much concentration and intention you put into your thoughts, the tape player remained in your hands when you opened your eyes. If this Walkman really did belong to that smiley masked freak, then it was tied to his Bloodweb and not yours. Stolen items couldn’t be hidden away, that was the rule.

And you had broken it, albeit unintentionally.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” you asked in a hushed whisper.

Quentin’s brows furrowed as he tried to guess your thoughts, but he hadn't arrived at the same conclusion as you did. With a heavy sigh you got up, brushing the dirt off your jeans before looking down to Quentin with a reserved expression. It was only when you began to wrap the headphones up that his face changed from bewilderment to full blown panic. He shot up quickly and grabbed hold of your arm, catching the attention of the people behind you.

“Wait—!”

“Everything okay back there?” Kate turned around and looked between the two of you. “Awful lot of whispering going on.”

Quentin let go of your arm to scratch the back of his head, looking quite chagrined.

“Yeah, we’re cool. Just mentioned wanting to go for a walk is all,” you lied seamlessly.

“Huh,” Kate’s eyes narrowed, but her face read as calm as a cucumber. “Well, be safe out there!”

“You know I will,” your tone was airy, but the fear in your eyes as you traded gazes with Quentin betrayed how you really felt.

Nevertheless, the wheels had been set in motion and there was no backing out now.

You knew what needed to be done.

Air sputtered from your pursed lips as you closed your eyes, calling worth your private dimension and sifting through the various clothing choices you held before settling on the appropriate attire. When your eyes opened once again your sandals had been traded in for hiking boots and you were wearing your favorite heavy duty jacket. Now ready to take your “walk” you placed the Walkman securely in the jacket’s interior pocket, zipping it halfway as an extra precaution.

Quentin escorted you as you approached the boundary of the camp, stopping at the edge where the grass died off into mud and tree roots. He was shaking his head and chewing the corner of his mouth, the tightness of his shoulders returning alongside the anxiety. You knew he was going to either beg you to stay or insist on coming along, and in all honesty you weren’t sure you’d be able to say no. So you opted to stop him before he could even begin.

“I have to do this. The longer I keep something that belongs to a killer, the worse the trials might get for us,” you stated plainly, more trying to convince yourself than Quentin.

“I get it, I do, but…” Quentin trailed off, biting his bottom lip.

You gave a shaky laugh, “Yeah, I’m scared, too.”

The two of you stared back into the tenebrous woods, its foreboding presence almost as suffocating as the fog found within. Although you trekked the trails lying deep in the heart of these trees many times before, it was an unspoken rule to never try and seek out the other realms. Much like the Bloodweb, the trails responded to a survivor’s thoughts. Thinking of escape only resulted in dead ends, and wandering minds would sometimes end up lost. To think of walking straight into the lair of your hunters was suicide, yet here you were.

With a final glance at your friend and a trembling hand wave goodbye, you stepped onto the path and disappeared into the night.

❈

The wet squelch of mud under your heels clung to your ears as you followed the winding footpath deeper into the woodland. A fine layer of mist filtered in the air and blended into a milky fog which wafted all around, obscuring your vision and sense of direction. Although the branches high above you were full of leaves and mosses coated their blackened bark, the colors here were just as washed out as everything else. It was surreal and picturesque, dare you say even tranquil.

You had been walking for ages now without the slightest hint of how you were going to find the smiley face killer’s realm. Hell, you weren’t even sure what you were going to do once you got there. Waltz in and announce yourself? Leave the Walkman out in the open and sneak out? These disputing thoughts played out as various movie scenarios in your head, running through every option until all that was left was the image of your mangled body lying in a pool of blood. You stopped to close your eyes and rub your temples, willing your focus to recenter. The forest was feeding off your fretting mind and if you continued to let your worries run wild then the trail would lead you further and further into darkness.

“Calm down, calm down,” you mutter to yourself.

Recalling the meditation techniques Jake taught you, your breaths became slow and deep. With each exhale you envisioned yourself at the edge of a storming lake, watching the heavy currents calm into still waters. In the physical world a gust of wind blew across your back, tingling the nape of your neck as leaves kicked up at your feet. The clarity of your mind made your senses acutely aware of a phantom presence hanging over you, and your eyes shot open to look around.

You spun in circles, eyes darting in the treeline and seeking out the barest hint of movement. There was nothing, and yet the feeling of eyes on you stuck like the mud on your shoes. You should be afraid right now, even your heart was beating painfully against your chest, but you weren’t. A prickling sensation danced across your skin as it sunk into your being, itching and invasive.

It was the Entity.

You flinched as you could almost feel it poking and picking apart your brain, seeking out your intentions for being in the woods all on your own.

“I’m looking for someone,” you began softly. “Can you help me?”

The Entity retreated from your psyche and your shoulders lifted in its absence. You stayed still, wondering if it even understood what you were doing. What _were_ you doing? Your friends would think you finally snapped if they knew you just asked the Entity to help you find a _killer_! Fingers pinched the bridge of your nose as you gave an exasperated sigh.

“This is so stupid...”

Another flurry of wind hit you and you shivered at the sudden cold. You looked over your shoulder, bracing against the blast of snow coming down from a small trail you hadn’t noticed before. As the path traveled up the hillside the ground became blanketed in white, and you swore you could hear the echo of creaking ski lifts. You hadn’t expected the Entity to reveal the winter realm to you so freely, and truly it felt much too convenient.

Still, you marched forward up the ice slick trail until the trees around you became barren and the wind died down into a light snowfall. The further you walked the harder it became to lift your legs, the snow gradually climbing up your calves. Regardless, you found yourself soaking in the haunting beauty of the forest now that the ghostly fog matched the icy climate. From the corner of your eye you noticed something silver and cylindrical hiding among the trees—a ski tower—and beyond that more of them leading in the same direction you were.

You followed them higher and higher until the ground plateaued. The towers continued in a straight line across a clearing where the fog had not gathered, and in the middle sat the very same decaying resort you visited all those trials ago. It was bizarre seeing this place without the Entity’s extra gimmicks, but after all this had to exist somewhere in the real world before being copied and warped into the dismal graveyard it was now. You wondered what it must have been like before falling into such a sad state.

Cautiously you began your approach to the lodge, eyes traveling all around as the world grew into a mountainous region with peaks touching the sky and smaller buildings barely visible in the distance. The ground here was rocky yet leveled, much easier on your feet than the sinking snow. You came to stop halfway to the resort just so you could soak in the sights, marveling in the extent to which the Entity had gone to replicate everything. Perhaps with this new realm it wanted to push the limits of its creativity, or maybe all the realms were like this outside the playgrounds. Whichever it might be, you were caught awestruck.

“Wow…” you sighed, warm breath visible as puffs of vapor.

So taken in with everything you barely heard the crunching of snow coming closer. You blinked, smile faltering as you remembered you weren’t alone here. The footsteps stopped somewhere to the side of you, and it took every fiber of your strength to not run. You lowered your gaze to the right and stared back at a grungy white mask with a painted smile. The man looked the same as before, at least from several yards away. His mask tilted in that irritating fashion just like back in your trial together, and you tried not to scowl.

“My friend told me you gave him a lot of trouble, and I know why,” you called out to him.

He didn’t respond, not that you expected him to.

“I have something of yours.”

You unzipped your jacket and fished in the pockets for the Walkman. While you struggled to retrieve it the footsteps picked up again and your eyes blew wide as you looked up to see the killer starting to advance. Nearly tripping over yourself staggering back, you threw a hand in front of you like a wimpish shield.

“Stop right there!” you yelled.

He halted mid-stride, tilting his head to the other side now.

“Don’t–Don’t move,” you stammered. “You can’t hurt me right now even if you want to. This isn’t a trial.”

The man crossed his arms as he leaned back to stand upright. You didn’t know what kind of face he was making under that mask of his, but you assumed it wasn’t anything pleasant. Tightening your grip on the Walkman you finally pulled it out of your jacket and held it in front of you so he could see it. His stance immediately shifted into something rigid, and before you could even explain yourself he was charging forward faster than you could back up. A whimper escaped you as he was now practically arm’s length, and in your panic retreat your muddy heel slipped on the ice beneath you.

“S-Stay away from me—!” your voice slipped into a pathetic shriek as you began to fall backwards.

The killer’s hand shot out and grabbed you by your extended arm tightly, pulling you forward until your palm collided with his chest. You gasped as your footing found itself, blood draining from your face as the sheer terror of being this close to your attempted-murderer again consumed you. His grip was firm, yet not rough, and once you were standing upright he released you. Your hand was frozen against his leather jacket and you could feel the rise and fall of his sternum with every low breath he took. For a moment you couldn’t tell if this was real or just your mind playing tricks on you, but after staring at him for a little too long the killer took it upon himself to take the Walkman out of your other hand.

You blinked and shook your head lightly, escaping the minor trance and pulling your arm away from him quickly. He had untangled the headphones from the tape player and began to examine it, turning it over and popping open the lid to look inside. You don’t know if it was the fear keeping you there or morbid curiosity, yet you remained glued to your spot while the man in front of you finished his inspection. After clicking the Walkman closed, apparently satisfied there wasn’t any damage, the masked killer began to unzip a pocket on his jacket to put it away. You could feel a question forming on your lips as you continued to watch him and before you could stop yourself the words came tumbling out.

“So you’re Frank?”

The smiley face snapped back and you flinched. Your eyes began moving to look anywhere besides that creepy mask as the man began to take another step forward, invading your space so closely you could hear his breath and smell old blood on his clothes. What transfixed your gaze the most was the tattoo over his neck. It was a blue-eyed skull surrounded by flames, the colors not as vibrant as they may have once been, but a statement piece to be sure.

You swallowed nervously, daring to look back up into those dead, cartoonish eyes. The mask was almost touching your face, and although you couldn’t see his eyes in those dark cutouts you knew he was scrutinizing every detail and flaw of your skin in perfect detail. Another debate was starting to unfold in your mind now between whether him stabbing you had been worse, or whatever the Hell this was. You opened your mouth to ask him what he was doing, but when his hands shot out to grab your collar and something sharp pressed against your jugular the words turned into a startled cry. Blood pounded in your ear drums and tears were welling up in your eyes as the man leaned in closer, the tip of his knife threatening to lacerate you.

“Don’t _**ever**_ touch my shit again,” a harsh growl came from beneath the mask. “Got it?”

You couldn’t nod, but your muffled sob served as a good enough answer for him. He shoved you fiercely onto the ground, rocks scraping your palms as you tried to catch yourself. You whipped your head back to glare at him between your tears, yet he stood there nonchalantly just twirling the hunting knife in his hand. It took you a minute or two to collect your bearings and get back up, checking over your jacket to make sure it hadn’t been ruined. The anger boiling in your gut was overcoming the fright to the point where you wanted to throttle this asshole, stabbing be damned. The Entity would just put you back at the campfire anyway.

Then again, you wanted to avoid explaining to everyone the how and why of you dying when you were supposed to be out for a casual stroll. You gave your clothes a few harsh wipes to smooth them out before turning to leave the realm, watching the killer over your shoulder as you did. He was watching you go as well, that damn painted smile looking so smug and grating on your nerves. You stopped and yelled out over the howling winds, trying to at least have the last word.

“Your music taste sucks!”

It was childish and mediocre, but you were never one for coming up with quick one-liners on the spot. However, the words seemed to stick and the guy stopped spinning the knife, shoulders going taut. You soon regretted saying anything as he began a dead sprint towards you and you screamed, falling over into the snow yet again. You scrambled to get back up, snow covering your face and hair, but paused when you heard rasping laughter.

The killer—Frank—was bent over, pointing with the knife and laughing his damn ass off at the sight of you flailing on the ground. You realized he had faked you out because he knew how you’d react, and the embarrassment ate you up as heat pooled in your cheeks. The tears flowed once more as you pulled yourself up and stormed away towards the treeline on the horizon, not bothering to look back as Frank’s laughter faded into the ghostly fog along with the rest of the realm.

You wished you kept the Walkman.

❈

By the time you arrived back at the survivor’s camp your ordeal dwindled into nothing more than a distant, bitter memory. You replaced your winter gear with something more flowy and spring themed, striding back up to your friends with a twirl to show off your new style. As a few of them gave light compliments you caught Quentin eyeing you, a silent question lingering. You gave him a thumbs up and left it at that, going to lay down next to the fire to warm yourself up. While you were getting comfortable Meg called your name, so you rolled onto your side to face her.

“What’s up?” you asked.

“Do you mind if I listen to your music for a little bit?”

“Oh, uh," you stalled, trying to come up with an excuse. "I’m sorry, but while I was hiking I tripped and broke the Walkman by accident.”

“Oh no! That really sucks.”

“Yeah, but it's really no big deal,” you insisted. “What good is a Walkman anyway if you only have one tape to listen to forever?”

Meg gave a slight laugh, “I’ll side with you on that one.”

That was the last time anyone brought up the cassette player, your friends accepting the plausible lie you feed them without so much of a hint that they doubted your word. It felt dirty to do so, but at least Quentin knew the truth and understood you. Having someone else in on the secret made it less of a cardinal sin and more like a need-to-know basis. No one else needed to know that your gift from the Entity really belonged to a killer, nor that you sought them out in their realm willingly. They also didn’t need to know how close he had gotten, how strong he felt under your fingertips, or the scratch of his tone when he threatened you.

And they definitely, absolutely, did not need to know that you liked the sound of his name on your lips.


	3. DELAY

Hi everyone! I'm sorry this isn't exactly the news you'd like to hear, but I thought I needed to let all of you know that the update is delayed until next week.

I'm aiming to stay on a weekly to every other week upload schedule, however a lot piled up really fast within these past two weeks and as a result I had to hold off on finishing chapter 3.

BUT! As both an apology and thank you to all of the support you have given me so far I am publishing a Valentine's Day special story! A Reader/Frank/Danny short based on a very terrifyingly sexy film I'm sure most you know. 💗

Again THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH for all the love and I promise this wait will be worthwhile! ❤️


	4. Too Much To Believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is not the full chapter. Will be updated with the full version as soon as possible.**
> 
> Hi, everyone. I want to apologize for the major delay on this chapter and for it still being incomplete, but to be transparent I have been dealing with a lot of real life issues which seriously impacted by desire to continue writing. I came very close to discontinuing this altogether, however a recent breakthrough impassioned me again. I ended up overhauling the original draft completely, with these two sections being what remains of it. Everything else going forward is brand new and I hope significantly improved.
> 
> To all of the people in my inbox, thank you. I cannot stress enough how your words made it possible to get through my troubles and keep my interest in this project alive. I said it before and I'll say it again: You motivate me to do what I do.

Trembling wet fingers slipped on the lever of the exit gates as you initiated the opening sequence, coating the metallic panel in thick, muddy residue. The swimming browns and greens of the world dizzized you with nausea as the remnants of gaseous tonic blurred your vision. You had no idea if you were the remaining survivor or not, having lost sight of your team early on and ran amok by the Clown once he spotted you. His intoxicating concoctions left you delirious for most of your game time, and had it not been for sheer dumb luck which set you on the path of the doors, you were certain to have succumb to the sinking swamp waters.

Three red lights above the lever filled your rheumy eyes with the buzzer sounding shortly thereafter. Metal rumbled as the shambling doors parted, laying the way to your freedom bare. You fell and braced the wall as your quivering legs ambled around the exitway, shuddering a sob of relief as the Entity’s fog beckoned you onward. In only a few mere paces would you be back at the campfire; dry, alive, and in the safety of your peers.

But victory was not to be yours this time. A hand which ensnared the back of your shirt served as a cruel reminder that the finishing line of a trial was not set at the gate itself. The hem of your shirt choked your larynx as you were hauled back into the deadly playground, legs dragging through the mud until the back of your calves and thighs were soaked in grime. You needn’t guess whose rattling laugh filled your ears as you were pulled further back into the swamp.

“Found you, ducky,” the Clown boasted as he tossed you face down into the sludge.

Muck clung to the front of your body and squelched disgustingly as you struggled to pull yourself up, but the Clown’s heavy boot struck your skull hard and pinned you there in the watery earth. A fetid taste stung your tongue as mud entered your mouth, causing you gag and thrash in the viscous liquid. The Clown chortled at your feeble attempts to escape from underfoot, his heel rubbing painfully into your scalp as he pressed deeper and deeper.

“Quack, little ducky,” he jeered. “Quack, quack!”

Your fingers clawed at the ground only to feel the slick slide out of your grasp. More mire pooled in your mouth with every gasp and gag of your lungs desperately seeking air despite your best efforts to hold your breath, and each convulsing shudder your body gave seemed to goad the Clown into applying more crushing pressure. It was a grim wish to hope your head would cave sooner than you would drown in the swamp filth, but it was the outcome you begged the Entity for.

Your silent prayers went unanswered. 

The Clown’s giant, greasy hand encircles your wrist and pulls it from the muck, yanking it painfully behind your head at an unnatural angle. A scream pushes past the vile in your throat to come out as a bubbly gurgle, eliciting another rasping laugh from the murderous carny. His tongue swiped a sickeningly warm trail up from your knuckles and over the back of your hand until his crusty lips settled on the ring finger, sucking on it in appalling earnestness. Reflexively you curled your fingers and tried jerking away, but it was to no avail as the Clown twisted your arm punishingly until something popped. Another cry broke the mud’s surface, and again the painted fiend cackled after pulling your finger from his maw with a loud, wet smack.

“Pretty little duck,” he croaks with a hum. “Almost got away from me again, didn't cha? With all your pretty, pretty, plumage intact.”

The cut of the butterfly knife is so quick your brain scarcely feels the sharp severance of muscle and bone, too encumbered by the unconscious fight against death’s impending embrace. Your tears pour into the mud and submerged cries hiccup into violent spasms as putrid sludge fills your lungs. There was no fight left in your jerking limbs as they finally stilled.

Endless dark claims your tired, defeated soul.

❈

The warm glow of the campfire invades your vision. A dance of orange flames crackles and snaps with the promise of deserved repose, the laughter and smiles of your friends beckoning you to join in their ebullience. A hand pushes on the broad of your shoulders, guiding you forward as another braces your arm to jostle you light-heartedly. Gruff laughter tells you it's David, and he’s boasting loudly about the circumstances of the trial.

“They had the bastard loopin’ ‘round the entire time. I’m tellin’ you, if that Clown was a horse on the track he’d’ve been worth plancin’ a bet on,” he lauds before letting you go.

There’s a few added praises from the others as he makes his way over to a stump, Claudette and Jake having already integrated with everyone else. But you remain standing at the edge of the group, feet sinking into the mulch as the weight upon you doubles in sensation. You’re uncharacteristically benumbed and glassy eyed even as you hear the faint call of your name. A gentle touch finds your shoulder; pulls you a little further ways from the camp. When you blink and look up you see Dwight’s face. His expression, while mocking stoicism, is filled with evident worry.

“Are you feeling alright?”

You hunched your shoulders. “I’m fine.”

The dry tone of your voice betrays the curt response. Dwight lets a faint exhale out from his nostrils, gaze cast down in thought. You know he’s racking his brain for a follow up question because he’s dissatisfied with the answer. This was very much like him; checking in from time to time, assessing your performance and state of mind to find some means of motivating you for future trials. Although he would chalk up his behavior to mere managerial conditioning, he was an instinctive leader and remarkably attuned to how others were feeling.

“I know you’ve been stuck in a rut lately, so to speak,” he begins hesitantly. “Is anything we can do differently to help you perform better?”

“I don’t know boss,” sarcasm laces your every word. “Not leaving me to die would be a good place to start. While we’re at it, let’s stop unhooking me in full view of the killer, dropping pallets in front of me while I’m being chased, and having these little ‘reviews’ where you nit-pick every Goddamn thing I do as if I’m your fucking employee!”

Dwight blinks at you with shock and chagrin. You hadn’t meant to shout, but concealed resentment has boiled over into a temper you can no longer suppress. Silence takes hold in the air with only the pop of embers breaking the quietude. Hot wetness stings the corners of your eyes as you look at your friends, their faces awash with expressions similar to Dwight’s. The quick flare of anger you feel dissipates into a shallow panic. You’ve never raised your voice at Dwight before, or ever unprompted for that matter. Embarrassment and remorse pushes the first trickles of tears down your flushed cheeks while a shudder of breath escapes your lips.

“Hey, it's okay,” Dwight’s voice is soft as he squeezes your shoulder, pulling you in for a side hug. “It’s okay to be pissed off right now, you don’t have to pretend to be otherwise.”

You want nothing more than to accept the invitation of comfort he's offering, yet the arm draped over your back and dozens of pitying gazes falling on you does nothing but add to the crushing phantom weight. After what the Clown did to you in the latest trial—coupled with the other gruesome deaths you experienced every round for the past who knows how many days—it's far too overwhelming. With a fierce shrug you pull from Dwight’s side and turn on heel, making a brisk beeline for the forest.

“I need some air,” you say sternly before anyone can ask.

The orange shimmer on the ground recedes as you hasten further from the campfire towards the creeping woods. Not even the call of your name or pleas to come back cause you to waiver from the first fog laden trail you step upon. You trudge onward until the only thing you hear is your own breathing and thumping footfalls, then further still. The singular thought of getting away possesses you to keep going.

Get away from the trials, away from the killers, and away from the judgement of your friends.

Get away from this God forsaken realm and the Entity.

Get...lost.

You stop mid-stride and stare at the path in front of you with bafflement. At least, there had _been_ a path. Turning around you find the leaf litter covering the forest floor undisturbed and groves of trees you knew did not exist before. You spin in circles, scanning for a distinct opening or even the trail itself. Several rotations later alarm takes hold alongside the realization of what’s happened.

You’re stranded in the Entity’s woods.

“Oh, _fuck_...”

❈

Damp clings to your clothes as the downpouring rain continues its volley. Your olive green parka is several shades darker than before and dribbles with excess water it can no longer retain. Every heavy step you take is accented by the squish of sopping socks and mulch. It's not frigid, but you still shiver reflexively every now and then from a distant muscle memory. You feel odious as well as enervated, having walked directionless for the better part of several hours you think.

The stumble of your legs as you try to push on is more than a clear indication of your need to rest, however you fear stopping for even a short while. Only the Entity knew who else was roaming out here, and with nowhere to shelter yourself it’d be heedless to sit in the open. No, best to keep walking until you found the trail again.

A languid sigh parts your lips, “ _If_ I find the trail again…”

You tilt your head back to peer into the dusky sky, the shower of raindrops hitting your cheeks and washing away faint tears. You wished you hadn’t let your frustrations overwhelm you, and a pang pierces your heart as you imagine an alternative scenario. Instead of lashing out at Dwight you accept his clumsy invitation for help, perhaps reciprocate his hug and find solace in the fact all of your friends support you despite your failings. More water fills your eyes and you sniffle quietly.

Shit, you cannot be doing this right now. You wipe furiously at your face as you force yourself to walk onward into a small clearing. Nearest the center are the remnants of a large, spidery oak laid supine where its fallen over. The decaying spikes of its roots are almost as tall as you, and you can scarcely see past the top of its massive trunk. Oaks are a common sight in this realm, yet you’ve never seen one of such grand scale before. It serves as an attractive distraction from the world as you approach, hand outstretched to graze its peeling, blackened bark.

As your fingers traced up to the points of the roots you momentarily thought of the Entity’s claws. Their blunt ends were hardly comparable to the hungry nails of the vile deity. You pressed the pad of your palm against them, failing to break skin whereas the molten puncture of talon had little resistance against your bones and organs. You close your eyes, inhaling. Evoking the memory alone burns your core in an unspeakable manner.

_Stop thinking about, stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it—_

These vicious, intrusive thoughts have hounded you from your first trials, filling you with prevalent foreboding. Was this the source of your botched conduct? It's more than probable, because in the quiet moments between messing about with your friends or scavenging for supplies these frightful images conjured from experience and imagination worm their way in and settle on your mind like a lead weight. They erode your confidence and ambition little by little until all that's left is anxiety and despair. You open your eyes, exhaling.

“Boo.”

A scream tears from your mouth and dies abruptly as you fall backwards, hitting water with an echoing splash. There's a moment of déjà vu when you find yourself submerged, followed by flailing panic to break the surface. You gasp and cough for air the whole while you wipe turbid sewage from your face, a cackle ringing in your ears. When your bearings return you find yourself waist high in rainwater at the bottom of a sinkhole, and staring down at you is a cheshire grin.

“Holy shit, that was funnier the second time,” Frank says with a jovial sigh. “You should’ve seen your face!”


End file.
